Sainted
by jehanna
Summary: Lucius pulls Karel from the bloody path ahead of him.


Lucius' hands weave their way through Karel's hair, cascading and spreading among the tent floor like the darkest ocean. A rare sight, one would think- the famed sword demon, asleep and still -but Lucius became rather used to the swordmaster visiting his tent, night after night. Not that this was unpleasant, it was Lucius who welcomed him in. And Lucius had no complaints, he was rather accustomed to helping people through their problems, Karel was no different. He suspected he may be the only one who could help him. Karel said it himself, after all.

 _("Perhaps that also is why... When I am near you, I feel...calm.")_

Bloodthirsty and violent Karel was, yes, Lucius wouldn't deny that. But that wasn't all there was to him, he'd found. That was why Lucius even bothered to pursue him in the first place, the hope that there was something underneath, something to save. And he was certain there was. After all, were there not something to save, would Karel be on the monk's lap? Sleeping soundly as Lucius toyed with his hair, the way he knew often calmed his Lord Raymond?

It was a strange thing that afflicted Karel, what Lucius first would've assumed to be a demon. He felt even that would be easier to dispel than this. Lucius wouldn't lie and say he understood the man's reasons, but Karel made them clear enough.

 _("I live by the sword. My body is a weapon. I cannot live without the taste of blood.")_

* * *

Lucius had seen him fight each battle since he came, slashing through enemies as though both them and he were just thin air. He'd startled Lucius when he first approached, the monk was certain he would be struck dead. But was shocked when Karel simply stopped, telling him he was not a fool without drawing his sword. Lucius was enticed instantly, the same fascinating anticipation you get when one reads a suspenseful novel. That something was next, and that it couldn't stop there.

He'd approached the swordmaster the very next day, with more questions than he'd receive answers. Karel was right, that blood was on Lucius' hands just like his. Could they not relate, then? With something in common, perhaps then, he could get behind Karel's barriers and walls. He tries, the next time they speak.

"...I live by the sword. My body is a weapon. I cannot live without the taste of blood."

"But have you no compassion at all? How could you know even grief without some kind of feeling?"

Lucius saw a falter in Karel's expression, then. He seemed less like a cryptid and more like a scolded dog. His eyes dart to the ground, hidden by dark lashes and he turns away. "...You are weak. Your blood means nothing to me."

Karel disappears into the growing shadows, away from the camp. Lucius smiles.

He was beginning to understand then, what he had to do. perhaps Lucius doesn't know the root of his issue, but he knows the behavior it cause. Karel didn't want to kill, was that it? He lived by his sword, but was that all he knew? If so, how could he expected to do anything but? Lucius swears to himself, silently, that he'll save this man.

The next day, Karel approaches Lucius first. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius can see Raven shoot a protective glance towards him and an increasingly cautious one towards Karel, who offers a glare no less harsh in return. Lucius assures him it will be fine and shoos his Lord away, having no worry that Karel will hurt him, though Raven's fear is understood. A small part of him was eager everyday, hoping the myrmidon would approach him. He never spoke to anyone else first.

"...You are not a fool. And you are weak. That is why I do not need to kill you."

Lucius blinks once, twice. Did he not already know that? Was approaching him alone not proof enough that Lucius holds no distrust? Before Lucius can speak, he continues.

"Perhaps that also is why...When I am near you, I feel...calm."

Lucius' expression softens, and he observes Karel's face closer. The furrow of his brow and the flame normally so present in his eyes is no longer there. There's a cold purple growing under his eyes Lucius isn't sure was there before, and lips sag but not purse. Had he ever seen a warrior look so exhausted? So empty where something once was?...Was this the result of his words?

"...You look tired."

"...What?" Karel's voice is so quiet, so confused. Lucius swallows, feeling this is something rare and fragile, something that will break should his words not to be chosen careful enough.

"Your face seems pallid, drawn, and worn. It looks unhealthy."

"Perhaps...I am...tired." Karel's hand leaves the hilt of his sword and instead his arms slither around himself, meant to be crossed but nothing short of fearfully holding one's self. "When I fight, my entire body is filled with a hunger I cannot suppress. ...I have never had the luxury even to imagine fatigue…"

Lucius understands. Karel must think the sword is his fate, all he has. Like religion and Lucius, it drives him, fills his being, gives him purpose. Only this purpose isn't his savior nor his light, instead a sentence to a life of suffering and regret. He can already see it, the guilt in his eyes. He felt guilt...That was enough to prove the bloodthirsty, vicious monster they so often saw was not the real him. Lucius feels he must stop it, before Karel crumbles beneath it, before he can no longer repent.

"I don't care about your fighting. I cannot change the way you live. Nor would I. We both follow our beliefs."

Karel looks up, at him. Lucius may be imagining it, but he swears his stare is a plea, a silent begging for help.

"I don't know why you believe this killing is your destiny, but I pray that you will someday know peace."

"I want...to sleep. If only for a while…"

Lucius takes Karel's hand in his, the other closing it in. Karel's hands are cold, they jolt but don't pull away. With a small tug, Lucius pulls him behind him and makes way to his tent. Karel doesn't seem to understand, but trusts him, as he doesn't resist. Lucius considers this a small victory, because Karel _trusts him_. Glances are shot their way by the surrounding army but he pays no mind as Karel is pulled into the other's tent.

"Rest now."

"Lucius…?"

"If you are only calmed by me, then I have no choice." Lucius pats his cot, and taking the hint with a sliver of doubt, Karel rests upon it. "I will stay by you, so you can rest."

Karel's eyes widen slightly, and he shifts, clearly tense. New to this, Lucius assumes, he must not be used to such closeness. Has he even been? But he will wait, for Karel's sake.

"Why is it, though, that you can only rest around me?"

Karel's stare turns to the roof of the tent, trailing the seam of the fabric. "You are weak, and you are…" He doesn't say it, he already has. "If I fought you...It would be pointless...You are of no use to my sword...I need not challenge you...I...The urge to fight you...it is gone…"

Lucius nods for him to continue.

"Every moment I spend resisting the urge to kill, it controls me. I fight it. But I need not fight it with you, because it is no longer there." His hand raises, he examines it. "My veins are empty, I don't have to fight...I've forgotten what it's like, to control my body...to not need to…fight it...To not..."

"I understand." And he does. Lucius' hand snakes its way back to his dormant one, and their fingers intertwine too naturally. Karel doesn't seem to understand it, but doesn't fight it. It was strange, to see him so...domestic, calm. Normal, almost. It seemed to pain the other to talk, though he does so easily than Lucius would have assumed. But the monk was aware he was something of a calming presence. Karel's breath slows. The exhaustion must of been more deep than Lucius assumed, for him to be falling asleep so quickly. "Rest."

His features relax, his body sinks into the cot's fibers. For the first time, Lucius sees Karel as only Karel, asleep peacefully beside him. He smiles again, because he was right. There was something- _someone_ there for him to save. His work was far from done he knew. Karel might be ready, soon, to leave this path of the sword. But he needs another path to follow first.

* * *

That was how for days, then weeks after Karel would come to Lucius' tent and for once, for the first times in many years, know peace. The change was astounding. No longer did he challenge others at their first meeting (though the threat still stood), his words had less bite. He didn't prowl the camp like a beast. All because Lucius had managed to understand his mind, to offer an ear, to let him rest beside him. Despite the obligatory rumors and glances that came with such an intimate act, Lucius was happy to see this side of Karel, the side only he got to see.

Somewhere in remembering this, Lucius must of shifted because Karel stirs, small waking grunts under his breath. Lucius doesn't stop his doting, wringing his hands closer to his roots as his eyes flutter open. Drowsy, his gaze wanders before slowing to a stop at Lucius. The monk leans forward, eyes meeting his over him and lips curling into a small smile. "Hello, Karel."

"Lucius…" He mutters, eyes blinking to adjust to the candle lighting the tent.

"Evening. I'm sorry to awake you."

Karel shakes his head, eyes closing. Lucius almost thinks he's fallen back asleep, but a hand moves to his chest. "I know you've only just woken, but...Pray tell you've been thinking about it? What I told you?"

Karel is quiet as he thinks. "That...I need a path...a new path?"

"Yes." Lucius prods stray bangs from his face, continuing to run through his hair. The swordmaster gives a satisfied sigh of sorts. "And your answer?"

"I...don't quite understand."

"That's fine. You don't need to right away...You believe the sword is your path, right? Your destiny?" A slow nod. "That is not the only path there is, Karel. But you must decide yourself what your path should be. Something to drive you, to live for."

"..."

"Likewise, I live for my religion, for my church. It means much to me, and I work to express it in any way I must. I wholeheartedly enjoy it. It's a purpose. Everyone has a purpose, Karel...What is the first thing that comes to mind when I ask you if you have anything, or anyone, to live for?"

Karel's eyes fall shut, and he thinks. The first thing that comes to mind is not something he was prepared for. it's a memory, one he had long forgotten. Jet black hair, not unlike his own. Tan skin and little hands grasping his robes, in average Sacaen fashion. Karla. It's Karla. But littler, only a few years of age. Tears trickle down her cheeks, every now and then, but she remains still against Karel's chest. He carries her across the Sacaen plains, scarlet in the sunset and color slowly fading as he approaches their settlement. She'd been lost, and he was searching for so long, for his little sister. If something happened to her…

He'd tried to battle her. He could of done something to her. And she'd only accepted it.

His breath hitches, Lucius shushes him comfortingly.

He thinks of it, of the urge to cut and slice through something, anything when she was near. The fear, the disappointment in her eyes that betrayed her clear affection for him, despite it all, despite...what he had done. He is still, to her, her brother. He is still a human. That he must fight her, he doesn't look forward to it, he realizes. Not when the temptation, the sword is there to command his thoughts, creeping up his neck shouting _kill kill kill kill_ _._ But here, the sword is far away, and he's nothing to focus on but memories and the calming presence beside him.

( _"We are less than human now. We are no different from our swords themselves. Our hearts are cold, and we count the days we live solely by the flesh we cleave. What meaning can there be in such an existence?"_ )

Her words were clear, yet so distant. They sounded so much like…Lucius', in a sense. The rational, _normal_ part of him he thought was gone implores him not to drag her down this path with him.

( _"I won't stop you... I doubt you can resist the destiny of our blood for long... So I will wait for you. On the scarlet plain. I will wait for my brother to come home..."_ )

"Destiny…"

"Hm?"

"The sword is…"

"No." Lucius mutters, shaking his head. Golden locks fall from his shoulder and drape around Karel, but he can't say he minds. Was that what angels looked like, he wonders? It's not so far fetched, he thinks, that Lucius could be one."Destiny...You choose your own destiny, Karel."

"But my bloodline…"

"Be the first to bring the change, if you wish it…"

Could he? After all he's done, all the blood spilled...Was there any turning around, any repentance? If it came from someone like Lucius, of someone so holy and heavenly like him…The familiar bloodthirst within him, buried deep now stirs but it's immediately barred with a careful stroke of the other's hand.

"Don't resign to this, because it's all you've known...Resist it."

"...I will."

"Then what? What will you live for Karel, if not your sword?"

"...Karla." Karel says, voice firm. Before his eyes close again, he can see Lucius smile wider. "She awaits me...in the scarlet plains...Home."

"That's it. That's what I want to hear." Lucius smiles wider. "This change...are you ready? It will not be easy."

Is he? Karel isn't sure. "...Yes."

The hesitation must've been clear, because Lucius leans closer. His hands stop. "But, so long as we together, fighting for the same cause...I will be here to aid you. I will stand by you"

"...Can I truly...change…?"

"Anyone can." Lucius whispers. "Karla...she will proud of you. I will be proud of you. Sacae would be proud of you."

 _Would_. Karel remembers the faces of his family, nigh forgotten, slayed by his hand. He feels it, the cold frigidness of guilt and sin.

"Proud…" Karel whispers back, eyes closing yet again. The fatigue is too great, he can barely will his limbs to move. Yet, this is perhaps the most at peace he'd ever been. He feels like himself, he didn't know what he felt like, nor what it was like to exist so freely.

"Perhaps." Lucius says, not moving to stop the drooping of his eyelids, the tenseness leaving his body. Yes, this was peace...A peace Karel thought lost, only returned to him because of...Lucius. As his mind slows and succumbs to sleep, he thinks a loose thought. That his destiny is also, maybe, Lucius. "Perhaps one day, you will be the 'Sword Saint'."


End file.
